Eternity
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: Nothing lasts forever, Jack." [SJ]


Title: Eternity

Author: Melanie-Anne (melsie04hotmail.com)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not my characters.

Summary: "Nothing lasts forever, Jack."

A/N: Beta'd by the lovely Diane. Thank you :o)

* * *

His fingers dance across her back, mapping the expanse of her skin. She is warm beneath his cold hands, soft and smooth under his touch. She's pale too, like fine porcelain. She told him once that she doesn't like the sun. He remembers thinking it was a shame not to show off that lovely skin but now he's glad. Because she's all his, even though he's not all hers. In his other life, he's a husband and a father. Here, he's just . . .

He's not actually sure what he is to her. There are things about her that she will never tell him, things he'd love to know: What's the story with the tattoo above her left hipbone? How did she get that scar on her stomach? Why does she like pink nail polish on her toes?

He knows where she likes to be touched, how she likes to be held, how good she tastes and that she talks in her sleep. He wants to know the simple things though: her favorite color, what she thinks of 'Casablanca', what she looks like first thing in the morning (he always leaves before she wakes). He wants to know what it would be like to take her on a date.

He hasn't felt this alive in a long time and a part of him knows it's wrong, but at the same time, being with her is so _right_. There are days when he wishes these stolen moments would last forever. When he is with her, he can forget that there is a whole world on the other side of the bedroom door.

He knows this affair will never go anywhere, knows that one day they'll drift apart. She'll decide she deserves a proper relationship and she'll kiss him goodbye and say it's over. He'll pretend it never meant anything and he'll smile, and every time he goes home, he'll look at his wife and wonder, _what if?_

And he'll miss her and she'll miss him but they'll pretend it never happened.

And one night they'll be working late, or they'll be out of town on a case, or they'll just decide it's been long enough. It won't matter when or where or how. They'll end up in bed and when morning comes, they won't regret it. Because, he thinks, some things are just fated to happen and there's nothing that can be done to stop them.

He likes the idea that the affair is inevitable. Unavoidable. Unstoppable.

She stirs under his touch and her eyes flutter open. Her lips curve in a slow, lazy smile.

"Hey."

He responds with a kiss, brushing his lips against hers.

"What's up?"

"I'm thinking." His mouth travels along her jawbone, down her neck, to her collarbone. When his tongue dips into the hollow at the base of her throat, she shivers.

"About?" She can't hide the quaver in her voice.

"You."

She laughs then. The sound is rich and low and he feels it vibrate against his mouth.

"What's so funny?"

"You're always thinking about me."

He wonders how she could possibly know that, and it occurs to him that maybe she spends a lot of time thinking about him. He hopes so. He doesn't understand this almost primal need to be with her but knows he can't not have her in his life. As a friend, as a lover . . . as whatever she is to him right now. Whatever he is to her.

"So . . . Good thoughts, bad thoughts?" She rubs his calf with her foot. "Naughty thoughts?"

He touches her tattoo, lightly stroking it with his thumb. "What is this?"

She rolls onto her back and looks up at the ceiling. Her voice is oddly thick when she replies, "It's a Japanese symbol."

He knows he shouldn't be asking, that it is no longer just an affair when he _needs_ to know everything about her. He asks anyway: "Meaning?"

There is no humor in her laugh. "Eternity. I was eighteen and in love, and I thought it would last forever. I was wrong."

He is hungry for more of her past and pulls her towards him. "What happened?"

She moves his hand up away from the tattoo and nuzzles his neck.

"Sam . . ."

"Marie's going to wonder where you are."

"She's out of town this weekend."

"And the girls?"

"With Marie's parents."

She slides out of the bed and pulls a shirt over her head. He doesn't understand what he's said wrong, why she's suddenly closed him out.

"Samantha?"

"What are you getting out of this, Jack?" She doesn't look at him.

He's not sure how to answer. How can he, when he doesn't even know what 'this' is?

She turns to face him and looks so incredibly sad that he gets up to hug her. She leans into him for a moment before pulling back.

"Nothing lasts forever, Jack."

Some things do, he wants to say, but doesn't. He's afraid that she doesn't feel the same.

"I don't want you to leave your wife for me."

He doesn't know what to say to that but can't deny that a tiny part of him has been thinking about doing that very thing.

She sighs. Tears appear in her eyes but are blinked away so quickly that he wonders if they were ever there. She reaches up to cup his cheek and one corner of her mouth pulls downwards. "Do you think we turn into our parents?"

"God, I hope not!"

She smiles. He thinks she's never looked so sad. "My mother was 'the other woman'. My father left his first wife for her when she fell pregnant. They ended up hating each other."

"Sam . . ." He struggles to speak past the lump in his throat. "I could never hate you."

Her hand falls to her side and she steps back, pulling free of his arms.

"You know you mean more to me than . . ." He gestures in the direction of the bed, searching for the right words. This is the first time they have discussed their relationship. "Wait. Are you pregnant?"

When she shakes her head, he doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed. He wonders what their child would look like, then banishes the thought before it is even fully formed. He knows it will never happen.

She smiles properly now, and it's like he's looking at a completely different woman. There is no trace of her earlier melancholia.

"I don't know what's gotten into me. Let's stop worrying about where this is going and just take it a day at a time. Okay?"

He nods, welcoming her back into his arms. He lays her back on the bed and slides his hand under her shirt. She arches into his touch. He never wants to let her go. I love you, he thinks.

She freezes beneath him. "What?"

Too late, he realizes he's spoken aloud. She looks at him with wide eyes, as if she expects him to take the words back. He won't.

He can't.

So he smiles and wipes away her tears with his thumb.

"Well, this complicates things," she says.

"Yeah."

He doesn't know why she looks so terrified (this is not something to run from, he thinks). He smoothes her hair back and presses soft kisses along her jaw. Her earlier words are thrown back at her: "Let's just take this one day at a time, okay?"

Her whispered, "Okay," is all he's ever needed to hear.

And just like that, he belongs to her.


End file.
